Lorenzo Buford
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I am called the Poet of Darkness.
I am infused in the dark places. The Mystery enters me. The Beloved knows me. My footprints are left in many consciousness, in many dark waters; and I learn without understanding and realization that I walk upon many waters with many names. I am the work: the One who imprints the passage way. the words. the ladder. the secret. I am a poet of darkness. I am not spoken to in the light of day but spoken to in the dark places that is a silent sacred space within. I am slumbering at the base of the tree where even the angels and the devils cannot hear the songs of my footprints. but I walk among you plain, simple, and obscure. Most people throw stones at me with their eyes. Most religions would demonize my touches. Most dogmas would cast me in the wasteland; and yet, am I not the moisture in the desert; and the conversation that will bring gnosis? I am the poet of darkness. I am the darkness that brings the soul to the Beloved. I am the headless body with its carnal cravings. You cannot sense me nor will I be trapped in beastly urges. This perfect cloud is not known. The perfect knowledge wanders. This perfect sound is not heard. This perfect pregnant darkness is hidden until its time of birth which is not known by any man. My tears have awakened many at their appointed time; and my spiral dance begins as my song carries the Lost up the ladder; and I am one of the ladders that is hidden in the dark places. I am the poet of darkness. Words are ships to sail the dark waters. Words are the anchors that will seed the Thunderings. Words are pregnant with lightning. I am the humble and the exalted. I am the road that must be traveled but no eyes can see the path. I am the secret that the Beloved reveals; and the Beloved that reveals the secret. I do not worship the one who taught me but become the one who taught me. I am the likeness and its similitude to become and I am an ark that exist in many times and places. I am a path that winds through time. I am a an old male mother who is a ladder for what was lost when I stirred and conjured in ignorance. I cannot be spoken of in plain language. I am the outside and the inside. I am the lightning that thunder brings. I am the pregnant darkness. I am the alchemist within. I am the poet of darkness. who comes to himself from an Androgyny and plays the parts of duality as the Angel and The Conversation. I walk upon the waters of consciousness until I rise as a tree in the desert. I am where all paths converge, and all words fall into this form, all symbols, all images, all conjures; all whisperings are my vehicles. I am the poet of the pregnant darkness. |
